


A Polite Invitation to Riott

by APgeeksout



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, F/F, Oral Sex, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: The Illustrated Iconoclast and the Platinum Spitfire attend a dinner party in the Neath.
Relationships: Ruby Riott/Liv Morgan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	A Polite Invitation to Riott

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Venadrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venadrin/gifts).



> Bulletproof Exchange Mini-Primer: 
> 
> Fallen London is a browser-based RPG/CYOA story set in a campy, eldritch-horror flavored version of Victorian London, relocated by sinister magic to an underground cavern and populated with spies and devils and fighting nuns and talking cats and good-natured tentacle-monsters. In the universes of both Fallen London and WWE, most characters have a Significant Epithet that is used in lieu of or interchangeably with their given names. This fic uses a mix of Fallen London NPCs, canonical WWE catchphrase titles, and Significant Epithets that I've made up for the wrestling characters in question. 
> 
> "A Polite Invitation" is a repeatable Fallen London story event in which a suitably prominent character can attend a fancy dinner party and gain useful items and connections by interacting with the other guests.
> 
> The Illustrated Iconoclast and the Platinum Spitfire are [Ruby Riott and Liv Morgan](https://knockout-divas.tumblr.com/post/638700037283725312) who wrestle as the [Riott Squad](https://supernickiminaj.tumblr.com/post/637766908362489856).
> 
> This is my crack at your tags for “Ballroom Dancing And Grumpily Realizing They Find It Rather Romantic”, “Receiver pets/strokes/pulls/otherwise touches giver’s hair during oral sex”, and “Cunnilingus While Standing With Legs Supported by Partner's Arms”.

"Didja save room on your card for me?" Liv asks, holding out a hand to you, looking hopeful.

Further down the dinner table The Whiskered Admiral is casting his scowl around for a fresh target. The Turkish Girl has taken to the dance floor, barefoot, scandalous, and charming. Her partner for this number laughs delightedly, drawing away many of the eyes and whispers that would otherwise have focused on the pair of you. If the Illustrated Iconoclast and the Platinum Spitfire are going to take a turn around the floor without too much fuss, then now is the time.

"Have I ever been able to say 'no' to you?"

You've done worse before than refuse her, of course, and you both know it, but she doesn't call you on it, and you return her smile as you let her pull you up from your chair and out onto the fringes of the dance floor.

The step you fall into together is slow and measured, more traditional than an onlooker might expect, if any of them were to watch your footwork instead of trying to make out the lines and shadows of your tattoos beneath the bodice of your party get-up. Dancing these steps to this utterly tasteful combo of musicians reminds you of too many stuffy occasions at Court - lately made even more impossibly dull by the Barbed Wit and the Acclaimed Beauty’s banishment to the Tomb Colonies - but even so, it’s nice to have her in your arms. It’s hard to begrudge the rest of the night with one of her hands warm and strong in your own and the other curved against the back of your neck, the way she leans in to rest her forehead against your own, the layers of surface silk and whisper-satin smooth beneath your palm at the small of her back, her hair smelling like surface roses, her body moving with yours to the staid beat.

“I just need a minute alone with the Brass Ambassador to make the hand-off,” she says, straightening to look you in the eye, the impractical shoes she keeps in her wardrobe for occasions like this making her taller than you for the moment. “Then I can start making it up to you, for dragging you out here tonight.”

You twirl her out onto the floor and then reel her back in close to plant a kiss in her white-blond hair. “This is already a pretty good start.”

The band picks up another number, livelier than you’ve heard them attempt all evening, and when someone starts in with a step from the elder continent, you let Liv pull you in to the center of the dance floor, and you can feel the grin breaking across your face beneath the feigned scowl you try to put on. 

When the Brass Ambassador’s yellow eyes sweep the dance floor to land on your girl, you’re actually disappointed to let her cut in while you peel off to ensure that the heat between the Jovial Contrarian and The Tribal-Chief’s Advocate flashes over into something that will make for a worthy diversion.

* * *

The rest of the party has retired to separate sitting rooms for brandy and cigars, both abuzz over the verbal sparring match just concluded. In the guise of circulating freely between both groups, you and Liv have broken off down a darkened corridor and ducked into what appears to be a small office. A few coals glow dimly in the grate, and a half-burnt candle stick and stack of calling cards and a copy of _Slowcake's_ with a well-cracked spine are arranged carefully on the surface of a spindly-looking writing desk tucked into the close space. 

Liv spins, her skirt flaring out, and launches herself at you, sets you stumbling back a step. She kisses you fiercely, the way you’ve been thinking about all night. 

“That was perfect!” She exclaims, and leans in to kiss your neck urgently before she adds, “Thank you!” 

“I mean, it had to be a pretty solid diversion, to get everyone to take their eyes off of you.” You slide your hands down to rest at her hips. “Especially in this dress.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she admits, and you take a beat to admire the way the dim light lands on her sleek hair and highlights the shape of her under the drape of her party dress before you kiss her again and then slowly slide to your knees before her.

“I was counting on it.” You smirk up at her as you trail your fingers up from the ostentatious diamond and venom ruby-studded straps of her shoes, tracing over the soft skin and lean definition of her legs, pushing her skirt ever higher up her thighs.

She rakes her fingers through your hair, mussing it up from the way you tried to tame it for tonight’s respectable company, and smiles down at you indulgently. “I thought I was supposed to be the one repaying you for a dull night?”

You scoff, and dip your head to place a kiss high against the inside of her thigh. “I’d go with you to every last stuffy society event on the calendar if I got to do this at the end of all of them.”

You won’t have long before it’s time to bid your hostess farewell with polite small talk, but you’re good at making the most of your minutes. It’s long enough to wrestle aside all the fine layers that separate her skin from yours, to press your mouth against her heat and taste and tease her until she shudders above you, until her legs start to tremble, made unsteady by the devoted work of your tongue. 

The little writing desk gives an ominous creak when she leans back against it for support, and you can’t help but chuckle against her skin, even as you encourage her to lean into you instead. Your hands shift to brace against her quaking thighs, even as the changed angle and the aftershocks of your silent laughter leave her quivering against your mouth, slicking your skin as she rocks against you, stifling a breathy sound and tangling a fist in the back of your hair. 

* * *

”You poor thing,” The Autocratic Heiress says, when you arrive in the entryway, your arm around Liv to support the bit of her weight that her overtaxed legs won’t. “Danced right off your feet.” She gives you a long look that takes in your disheveled hair and smudged makeup and satisfied smile. “Make sure this one takes care of you.”

“Oh, I intend to,” you assure her, squeezing Liv tighter for a beat. “Thanks for the invite. We’ve had a lovely time.”


End file.
